The Nancy Experiment (Book 1) Page 2

  A thousand curse words in several different languages run through my head. I hold my breath and pull my knees into my chest. Just keep cool and keep things under control. My heart slows down, and my mind settles. I have been in this position countless times before. I know what I have to do.

  “Dean, you guard the exit. Brown, watch above us,” the leader Bruce orders. “No one’s getting outta here unless I say so!”

  I look up to the sky and mumble, “Please let me get through this.” I hope someone up there is listening.

  “Bruce,” New-bee says. His voice… it kills me, yet it ignites a fire in me. The fire burns in me, and all I want is to burn down the entire city.

  New-bee must be pointing at something because no one else makes a sound. I exhale and let the fire elicit the monster in me. I wait only three seconds…

  WHACK! First two shots and I send some husky guy to bed with a powerful kick to the head and punch Bruce so hard in the jaw that a tooth pops out. The next guy seems so shocked that all he can do is try to scratch me—please, like anyone could scratch me.

  So the third guy goes down just as fast as the first two, and then I fight number four and the new recruit. The recruit is completely unprepared for me, but he puts up a decent fight… until I clock him in the nose. Number four knows how to fight me; he fights dirty, too. He pulls out white nunchucks, but I grab a garbage bag. Within a few seconds, I have him lost and tumbling into New-bee.

  “MY TOOTH!” Bruce is back on his feet. “YOU LITTLE BITCH! YOU KNOCKED MY TOOTH OUT!”

  I can’t help but crack a smile, but now I have a madman charging me. Just before he can hit me, I leap high enough into the air to shove Bruce’s fat head into Dean. Both of them fall to the concrete.

  This is too easy, I think to myself. Even without using my nuclear powers, these guys are falling faster than they’ve ever fallen before.

  But I underestimated the new recruit. No sooner had I landed, I lift my head to see him pointing a rifle at me, and I feel a bullet pierce my skin on my left side. I stumble for only a second and then swing a large steel plate at the new recruit, which puts him out for good.

  I also underestimated their numbers. New-bee had snuck behind me, grabbed the nunchucks, and now has me pinned against him with the weapon holding my hands at my neck. His tight clutch prevents me from seeing anything but the nunchucks and the ground near his feet. Faster than expected, the remaining members begin beating me to a pulp. They attack my stomach, legs, ribs, and beat my face with some sharp, wooden blocks.

  It hurts like hell. I can see glittering blood staining the nunchucks and the ground. Is that my blood? I try to move, but New-bee holds me tighter, and the hunting crew strikes harder. I choke; my body feels nauseous, and my head spins like a disco ball. But I have to fight on… I have to fight on… fight on…

  Then, everything turns white, and I feel absolutely nothing.

  I don’t know what happened, but when my vision and feeling come back, I find myself standing against the brick wall watching four men struggle back to their feet. I seize the opportunity and knock Bruce back to the ground, this time for good. Shortly after, I have two more out cold.

  New-bee is the only one left, and when our eyes meet, I pause for a brief moment. He has not attacked me yet, only held me down. Does this mean he doesn’t want to fight me? But he’s still one of them. I swing at him left and right while he blocks my shots. Then I see an empty beer bottle on the ground. I pick it up and hit him on the head with it. He falls to the ground, unconscious.

  I look around. Seven bodies crumpled in the alley.

  I fall to my knees and clutch my left side only to get a fist full of red blood. Shit…

  I glance at the bodies on the ground and at the unaffected, ignorant people on the main street. It always amazes me how a group of people could be fighting for their lives in an alley just outside the main street, yet nobody seems to notice or care. I should probably get out of here before any of the unconscious bodies around me wake up.

  I rise to my feet, and an intense surge of pain hits my left side, stemming from the bullet. I bite my lip to keep from screaming, pick up my Indian’s hat from the ground, place it back on my head, and pull my hood over my face. Back into the crowds.

  But hey—that’s the best part of city life: crowded streets mean that no random person walking past is going to notice if your face is dripping blood. And if people do, then they’re too busy to take a second look.

  II: Under the Bridge

  Monday, March 10, 2065; 8:47 a.m.

  First person

  Finally, the bridge.

  I grabbed a truck leaving downtown that took me here, the complex bridge system south of the city. Now I stagger below the busy highways and under a bridge that runs over the Cuyahoga River.

  I had planned to use this spot as a last resort, and seeing now that I’ve come here, I guess it must be. Under this enormous, steel structure I can hide from the sun and from them. But there’s neither food, water, nor an easy exit. So I’ll wait here to gather my strength or wait for death.

  I hobble down to the edge of the river to wash. I dip my hand in, and the water is freezing cold. I yank my hand out of the water.

  No shit, Sherlock… I think to myself. Half the river is still covered with ice.

  The temperature wakes me but sends chills across my body, making me feel sick. I pull off my sweater and my shirt without irritating my side too much. Examining the shirt, I see that the bottom-left side is not white, but completely stained red. I drench my shirt in the icy water and use it to wash the sparkly blood off my face.

  It’s disgusting. By the amount of red water I’m sending down the Cuyahoga, it appears as if Moses has been here with his magic staff. I’ve seen plenty of blood before, but I’ve never seen so much come from my own body. And the pain…

  Any normal human would be dead or dying after the attack in the alley, but not me. I’ve gone through worse—I’m sure. My body is designed to breeze through demanding physical performances and withstand severe corporal punishment.

  Sure, I’ve taken a few bullets here and there. I always had to fix them myself, so I have a pretty good handle on it. But never have I been hit on my torso, and so close to the weakest spot on my body. This special experiment left behind a scar on my lower left back…

  I wash all the blood away from the rest of my body, leaving my whole body shivering in the breeze. If I don’t die from loss of blood, hypothermia will surely try to kill me. I look down at my stomach—red and brown. Yuck. I begin to wash away the blood with my shirt. The skin is extra sensitive on my lower left side, so I wash that area tenderly until I reveal where the bullet struck. As I smear the blood on my torso, I can see each of my ribs, bony and bruised, and I feel hungry again. Or maybe just nauseous.

  I finally wipe most of the blood off, and now the bullet hole is visible. I want to take the bullet out, but I know better. Taking it out means more blood, and I can’t afford to lose any more blood. So I take my shirt and wrap it around my waist to halt the bleeding. Knowing that the tied shirt and my black sports bra won’t be enough to keep me warm, I put my sweater back on and hobble back toward the top of the bridge.

  Every move comes with more and more pain. When I finally make it back to the bridge, my stomach crumples, and I puke a thin, orange fluid. I cough out blood and saliva next. Shivering, I grab a handful of white snow and shove it into my mouth. I spit the snow out, and it’s a deep fuchsia. I continue to grab handfuls of snow and spit them out until the snow is only a light pink color. I sit down against the cold, hard beams of the bridge and close my eyes.

  Why did you come back here? A voice in my head says to me. I knew it wasn’t talking about the bridge when it said “here.”

  Do you want them to find you? You could’ve killed someone back there… all it takes is one misstep to lose control of your powers, and we all know what happens when you lose control. It’s just a matter of time now before they find
you or before you lose control again.

  I pull my jacket tightly around my shivering body, avoiding the fears my conscience echoes through my mind.

  It’s just a matter of time now.

  “Shut-up, Nancy,” I say. I keep my eyes closed and try to fall asleep.

  Footsteps in the snow approach me. I hear her coming.

  “Run!” I shout.

  But the footsteps are gaining on us. Soon she’ll be upon us.

  “Hide over there,” I say, pointing to an old, stone bridge that crosses over a sewage drain. They run to safety under the bridge, and I turn to face her.

  Kick—Block—Strike—Strike—Glittering blood. I tumble down the hill and land in the semi-frozen stream under the bridge. Her voice echoes through my ears and through my mind. Her ghostly face burns in my eyes. The fire inside me burns.

  And burns… and burns… out of control…

  I’m unable to move. Afraid the monster inside me will strike again.

  The others poke their heads out from behind the bridge. I’m still stuck, motionless, under the bridge.

  “She’s dead.”

  I open my eyes expecting darkness, but instead I see an orange and pink sky sparkling against the ice and water. I wiggle my fingers and toes. I can move. This is reality: under the bridge in Cleveland.

  But footsteps still ring in my ears. Lots of them. I shake my head to force the nightmare away to no avail. Why don’t they go away? There must be fifteen or twenty steel-toed footsteps, now voices both calm and harsh coming from above. This isn’t the same nightmare.

  Not now… not already, I think to myself. I unwrap myself from the warmth of my sweater and slowly rise to my feet. I wince as a wave of pain sweeps across my body, and I hold only the beam of the bridge to steady myself.

  “Shit,” I sigh. I can feel my side starting to bleed again. At least it’s not the old cut on my head.

  How did they find me so quickly? Among my powers—er, my burdens—is my ability to shield my mind from others. They couldn’t have found me with any of that new mind-reading equipment they use to track people down. Perhaps it was the trail of sparkling blood I sent down the river…

  I peek my head around the corner of the beam to see if any of the hunting crew are making their way down to the river. I see only the silver tips of their boots, but then three people wearing long, black pants and the same steel-toed shoes walk toward me.

  I take a step away from the pillar, but just as I take another step back, someone grabs my arm and covers my mouth with his hand. My heart jumps, and I spin around to see a boy about my age staring at me.

  The boy is a head taller than me with short black hair, dark skin, and deep brown eyes. He’s wearing some sort of fitted, silver outfit that draws attention to his large muscles and makes him look like a back-up dancer for Zedra. He seems to radiate heat, or maybe I’m just that cold.

  I try to wiggle free from him, but he lets go of me on his own. He smiles and holds his finger to his mouth.

  “It’s okay. We’re here to help you,” he whispers.

  A blonde girl about the same age appears behind him. She is beautiful—large, blue eyes and a long, blonde ponytail—and wears the same fitted, silver suit. She smiles at me then turns to a boy behind her who has white, spikey hair.

  Who the hell are they? What are they doing here?

  Why am I not afraid of them?

  “Eli,” the girl says to the dark-skinned teenager.

  She points toward a bridge parallel to the one we are standing under. We all look in that direction and see a van parked on the side of the highway with a person pretending to check the back tire of the van. I’m still staring at the strange sight when Bruce and Dean come around the corner of the beam.

  They first look at me, and I know by their faces they want to kill me right here and now. They too have scratches on their faces from the fight in the alley this morning, and Bruce has a fat lip. Their expressions change, however, once they realize I’m not alone.

  The blonde girl begins the attack, knocking out both Bruce and Dean with three swift, silent movements. After admiring her work, the blonde girl looks up and smiles at the dark-skinned boy.

  “Nice, Zoë,” the boy says. He grins back at her.

  From the corner of my eye, I see the new recruit pointing his gun at the blonde girl. I jump in front of her, tackling both of us to the ground, and a familiar, sharp pain pierces the back of my left shoulder.

  ”Zoë!” the dark-skinned boy, Eli, yells as the blonde girl and I tumble down the hill. I hear the girl roll into a beam, but I continue further and further until I finally come to a stop about fifteen meters away from the water’s edge.

  Owwwwwwwww… My shoulder burns, and the skin on my back feels like it’s ripping apart. That’s another bullet wound. I lay there for a while soaking up all the pain, expecting another bullet to hit at any moment. Then I hear something small and heavy splash into the water— the gun.

  Not long after, I hear about twenty more guns splash into the water. A strong gust of wind whistles in my ears. The voices I had heard before are louder and flustered now, and I hear the roaring of flames.

  I’m desperate to know what the hell is going on around me, but since I’m as good as dead anyway, I take my time. Moaning in pain, I roll onto my back and open my eyes. Another powerful gust of wind blows over me, and someone appears above me. I can’t tell if he belongs to the young silver-squad or the hunting crew because I never heard any footsteps. I blink until my vision clears, and I see the boy’s face a foot from mine.

  He’s roughly eighteen or nineteen with pale skin and crystal blue eyes. His dirty blonde hair dangles in front of his face and dances in the breeze. If the silver jacket he wears doesn’t hint enough to whose side he’s on, the fact that he isn’t strangling me to death right now convinces me.

  “Hey there,” he says. He smiles when he sees me looking at him. “Gently now.”

  “Who the hell are you?” I ask.

  He takes my hand and helps me sit up, but his smile vanishes when he sees my two, shimmering-red wounds.

  “Lazz!” the boy shouts. His voice trembles, and his eyes flicker from my eyes to my wounds. I avoid eye contact by looking for my Indians cap and find it floating in the Cuyahoga.

  The boy with white, spikey hair comes running down the hill to meet us. His eyes are wide when they see the blood.

  “Are you…” the white-haired boy starts to ask, but I’m already rising to my feet. I try to take a step away from them, but they hold onto me and keep me steady.

  CRASH!!

  A black car tumbles down the hill, shards of metal flying in every direction. The car splashes into the river, and the icy water slowly engulfs the busted machine. Goodbye, Indians cap.

  I look to where the car fell from and see nearly twenty men in black scrambling and shouting as a husky guy dressed in silver jumps from the bridge and lands on the ground among the scrambling men.

  Is his skin… steel? Who the hell are these people?

  “Lazz, get to van,” the blonde boy says. “We will cover you.”

  The boy with white hair—Lazz, I guess—nods, and the other sprints up the hill.

  “And what are you going to do?” Lazz shouts after him.

  The boy running away ignores him and suddenly leaps into the air, flying toward the fight unfolding at the top of the hill. An enormous gust of wind blows behind him that feels so cool and so clean.

  At the top of the hill, the flying, blonde boy joins the others dressed in silver. The dark-skinned boy I first saw is now completely on fire and standing guard over the blonde girl who lays unconscious on the ground. He busily shoots blasts of fire from his hands to the snow, creating a huge fog between the silver squad and the hunting crew. A husky boy stands by another girl with long, curly brown hair. His skin is the same metallic black of the car sinking in the Cuyahoga. The brunette holds a sharp, sleek pole in one hand while shards of the sinking car levitate
around her.

  What the fuck.

  “Here,” Lazz says. He offers to carry me on his back.

  “What are you people?”

  “The ones who are getting you out of here. Hop on my back, and I promise I can take you to safety.”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  He raises an eyebrow at me.

  “I mean, I can run.”

  “Okay,” he says.

  He takes me by the arm, and we start jogging toward the van—thank god he’s not sprinting. We run through the thick, gray fog created by the dark-skinned, fire-throwing boy, and the wind swirls around us, strong and surfeit with snow. I try to focus on what’s ahead of me, on escaping, but I can’t help but look back.

  Through the thick mist, I see the dark-skinned boy running after us, carrying the blonde girl in his arms. The flying boy must be somewhere behind them, still blowing snow into the air to thicken the mist.

  “Come-on!” Lazz says to me. I turn back and see a tall man in black coming at us from the right.

  “There!” I shout.

  Lazz turns his head and extends his arm out in the man’s direction. His white hair seems to stand up and spark as his hand glows a bright green color; then a photon of green electricity shoots from his hand to the man charging us. The man bounces backwards into the fog.

  I try to run faster to keep up with the white-haired boy, but my right calf is burning, and my shoulder aches. I hear a car starting up in front of us and know we are close. I blink as the silhouette of the van becomes less and less nebulous.

  I collapse just as we get to the van. Lazz lets go of my arm and tries to yank the door open. He yells at the driver to unlock the damn door, and the driver yells something back. The door finally slides open as the dark-skinned boy emerges from the fog, still holding the unconscious blonde girl. He takes her into the van then climbs back out to stand next to Lazz.

  “What are we waiting for?” he shouts. “Where’s everyone else?”